by Dianne Drake
“Maybe even two or three,” she added.
“Four. I think it’s at least four.”
“Then what do you suggest, Ben Robinson?” she asked, spinning round to face him.
“We get an earlier start at it tomorrow. But for now I know this bed and breakfast just up the street. Happen to have a room there, which I could probably switch to the honeymoon suite.”
“That’s what you want?” she asked him. “Are you sure? Because I haven’t even heard a marriage proposal yet. So don’t you think a honeymoon suite is getting ahead of ourselves?” She looked at his face, and for the first time since she’d known him saw no hesitance there. No distance. Nothing there but the glow of love, and trust, and the sure knowledge that this was where he belonged, where she belonged, where they belonged. And where they finally started, together. “So, will you marry me, Ben?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He pulled two boxes from his pocket and opened them. Wedding rings. Plain gold bands. “The custom is to wear the wedding band on your right hand until the wedding, when the priest blesses them and we move them to the left hand. These belonged to my grandparents, so they may look a little worn...”
“They’re beautiful,” she gasped as he took his grandmother’s ring from the velvet box and placed it on Shanna’s right ring finger, then kissed it. She did the same for him, and there, standing on a public street outside a little café, they made vows to each other. No priest, no formality, no legality. “I promise to love you and stand by your side forever, Ben Robinson.”
“And I promise to love you and never shut you out of my life, forever, Shanna Brooks.”
The traditional wedding kiss was a little salty for a quiet Italian village, but when they realized that they really did need to head straight to the bed and breakfast, in a hurry, and stepped back from each other, the small crowd that had gathered applauded them. Ben took a bow, Shanna curtsied, then they turned and strolled hand in hand to Signora Palmadessa’s, where she threw rose petals on them when they entered.
“Almost a honeymoon,” Ben whispered, as they sailed past the woman.
Shanna shook her head. Held up her ring, and smiled. “Doesn’t matter which hand it’s on. This is a real honeymoon.”
* * *
“It’s been sitting out there since this morning,” she said, her focus on the large, wooden packing crate that had miraculously made it to Caridad. “Addressed to me. So I want to open it.”
Ben laughed. Married legitimately a month now, he was only just beginning to understand Shanna and all her habits and personality quirks. It was a lifetime journey, he supposed, and one he was happy to take because marriage to her was everything he’d expected it to be. And so much more. In moments like these it made him wonder why he hadn’t just married her at first sight then figured out the rough patches along the way, because doing everything together was so much better than being alone. “So open it,” he said, handing her a pry bar then stepping back to watch.
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
“What I think is that you can do anything you want.”
She’d defied her family yet they’d come to Argentina for the wedding. A simple affair, really, where they’d moved the rings to their left hands, where she’d worn the traditional Argentinian blue petticoat under her white dress, where they’d danced the tango half the night. Her family hadn’t stayed for the festivities. They’d literally flown in for the ceremony then left immediately after, but it was a start for Shanna, and she was cautiously optimistic for the future. Her grandfather had mentioned wanting a first great-grandchild. And he’d paid to have Ben’s cottage with two separate apartments renovated into a single cottage for the two of them.
So maybe there were new things to explore with her family now that she wasn’t part of the family business. However it happened, there were possibilities she’d never expected, and she was excited to explore them.
“I can’t even budge the crate, Ben. It must have cost a fortune to have it shipped.”
“It did,” he said, grinning.
After taking several good whacks at the crate’s top and loosening some of its nails, Shanna finally managed to wrestle the top of the box off, only to find it packed with foam peanuts and packing bubbles. But she tore at those like a woman possessed, throwing them all over the porch in her attempt to discover what was under them. Eventually, she saw it. “Ben, I...”
“You’re not speechless, are you?” he teased. “Because if you are, I think I’ll run and get the camera, because I’m not likely to see it again.”
“How did you do this?”
“Bought it when we were in Tuscany, paid a company to ship it home—snail’s-pace mail because I couldn’t afford to express ship it.”
She swiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. “It’s ours, isn’t it? Where we...”
“Met. Our table. Where we met. Where I fell in love with you.” He’d bought the café table and chairs. “I didn’t like the idea of other people sitting there, maybe damaging it or destroying it. Then I wondered about what would happen to it if the café changed its decor. So I bought it.”
“Our table,” she said, then ran across the porch, straight into Ben’s arms. “Thank you, Ben. You don’t know what this means to me.”
“Want to show me?”
“In the middle of the day? You’ve got patients to see.”
“Covered.”
“And I’m behind on my charting.”
“Charting can wait.” He lowered his lips to hers. “Forever, for all I care.”
“Why, Ben Robinson, whatever has come over you?”
“You,” he said as his lips found hers.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460307496
Copyright © 2013 by Dianne Drake
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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